Bash’s head does a scary-owl one-eighty twist—and his horn swoops right past me, missing me. But it doesn’t mean I’m in the clear; I’ve suddenly got a faceful of the quills that sit at the back of his head like hair.
I pull back, puffing and spitting. I do this as loud as I can, hoping to catch his attention before he goes on a killing spree.
It works. Bash quits glaring at the speaker in favor of turning his glower on me. “Did I quill you?”
I laugh a little breathlessly. “If you ever do, I think that means I lose an eye or two for sure. Try to relax, friend.”
Smoke curls up from his nose, but I’m so used to seeing this from him that it doesn’t seem all that weird anymore. His fingers sweep reassuringly up and down my spine. “Still hurts?”
I stare up into his unbelievably beautiful gemstone eyes. “Yep. Not liking this. You might have to put me in traction. This is terrible.”
Admitting that the pain is not good is a really bad idea, it turns out. Bash’s head whips to the side (far enough away from me this time that my eyes are in no danger from quills, and his horn avoids clocking me)—and he spits fire.
Humans yelp and jump back. (No one gets singed, but really, Bash needs to start looking first before he begins smoking or searing the area. Basic flame courtesy 101.)
With all the wrong timing, a hob appears at my elbow, the unfortunate soul. Bash’s considerable amount of concern—an emotion he is clearly not used to dealing with—ignites into rage. “Do NOT touch her,” he snarls.
Something powerful slaps against me, wrapping, squeezing, banding around my thighs and winding up along my stomach. Bash’s tail, I realize in time to squelch the scream that was about to form in my throat.
I have to clear my throat twice in order to speak. “Look who’s back, it’s our resident medic hob. Jonohkada, right?”
Thankfully, Jonoh hears me over Bash’s obscenely loud growling. “Yes!” He lights up, not because he’s on fire (although with Bash so close that is a concern) but because he’s genuinely surprised that I remembered him, his wings flaring open and flushing with an intense citrine color before he snaps them shut. “I heard you cry out.” His forehead is furrowed with gentle concern. “I thought maybe I could offer medical assistance. Could you tell me where exactly you’re injured?”
“Her BACK,” Bash enunciates, like any idiot can see what’s wrong with me.
I raise my smaller arm in a silent request for Bash to shush. “Thank you for braving my dragon and coming over. It feels like I have a railroad spike about, oh, here,” I carefully gesture, manipulating my other arm so that I can point at the spot without making my back angrier than it already is. I hope Jonohkada can see where I mean, because during this maneuver, Bash doesn’t remove his hand. In fact, he slides it under my shirt not helpfully, but… almost possessively.
My body likes this maneuver.
My back warns that I can get excited at my own peril.
I decide to cool my excitement at Bash touching me anywhere under my clothing. Doctoring first; be happy later.
Jonohkada eyes Bash with a healthy amount of wariness. “I’ll just…” he starts—and proceeds to do a bang-up job of ignoring the way Bash continues to growl like a sulky rabid dog, and gets me assessed, offers me chocolate, asks the impersonal round of questions I’d expect from any medical professional, and examines me without touching me.
And suddenly, the mysterious pain disappears.
“Hey… It’s gone,” I breathe.
Jonohkada looks almost as relieved as I feel. “Repetitive strain can cause the muscles in a human back to become stiff. I am no expert, but—”
“Then why are you HERE?” Bash bites out, shooting to his feet.
(He doesn’t take his hand out from under my shirt. I think it's an important detail to mention.)
Jonohkada cringes—but only for a hot second. He draws himself up a little straighter, and his wing talons sit up over his shoulders almost proudly. At least they’re not cupping each other anymore looking like a pair of worried clasped hands behind his head.
He’s been doing that since he showed up. It normally wouldn’t inspire confidence, but Jonoh has a quiet thoughtfulness that’s plenty reassuring, so some Rakhii should really cut him some slack.
I brave the movement, hoping I don’t cause a twinge in my back, and reach out to cuff